


The Things You Hide

by Cân Cennau (cancennau)



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Canon Compliant, Cantair Set, Character Study, Drabble Collection, Drabble Sequence, Healing, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Post-Canon Cardassia, Recovery, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-12
Updated: 2016-07-12
Packaged: 2018-07-23 14:03:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7466151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cancennau/pseuds/C%C3%A2n%20Cennau
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ten drabbles following Kelas Parmak from the day he left the labour camp to the beginning of Splintered. (reading Splintered is not necessary to enjoy this)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Things You Hide

It’s the first bath they’ve had since leaving the camp. Clean, warm water, pouring over the short stubs of what was left of Kelas’ hair. They rub a hand over their scalp, and pause.

They had braids, once upon a time. Long fat ones that draped over their shoulders like snakes. The braids are long gone, shorn as punishment. Only one braid is left, their forelock, lying thick and heavy over their brow, encrusted in dirt, blood and sweat that will never truly come out.

Kelas unties it, and sits and combs it until the water is cold and black.

* * *

Kelas is essentially housebound, tied to the small grey square room they bought with what little savings they had. On the rare occasions they go out, Kelas can’t help but feel followed, by eyes, by judging Cardassian eyes, by bright blue interrogator's eyes-

Kelas wishes their family could be there to comfort them like they used to. But long gone are the _pregnar_ seasons where Kelas’ siblings used to beg to braid their hair, where _adik_ and _yadik_ used to welcome them home with home-made _povva_ bread. They never wrote after the camp, and Kelas feels more alone than ever.

* * *

 “We have room, if you want it.”

The State offered Kelas the draft for freedom. Of course, Kelas isn’t allowed on any warship, but they let him work on the smaller vessels, the cargo ships and the less technological vessels. Mitka, sweet Mitka, an old friend, to whom Kelas had been a doctor to all their childhood, second in command of the _Pirriselian_ , which looks halfway to a rustbucket, knows their history. Wants them there anyway.

It’s an escape.

“Three medical doctors on a science ship?” Kelas says, implying _yes, please don’t leave me_. Mitka smiles.

“I’ll make an excuse.”

* * *

Kelas hates the _Pirriselian_. The way it looks, the way it sounds… They particularly hate it when it jumps to warp. Warp sickness is a bugger of a thing.

They hate the people on the ship too. Mitka’s nice, and another medic, Atha, is too, but everyone else treats them like they’re the scum stuck to the sides of the ship. Once, after a few too many drinks, Mitka admits that they sympathised with Kelas’ “political nonsense”, but it’s not enough. It’s never enough.

Sometimes, Kelas stands by the airlock and wonders if it would be simpler if they jumped.

* * *

“Will you ever go home, Doctor Parmak?”

It had been six years. Six years of unironically being referred to as “Medewsa” or whichever mispronunciation of the Human mythological gorgon the crew went with. It wasn’t the best life, and warp jumping was still hell, but it was a life of a kind.

Kelas thought about home sometimes. They didn’t know what that was exactly - maybe a house, small, quiet, out on the Cardassian plains… The blue eyes didn’t haunt them anymore, but that didn’t stop the shudder of fear whenever they were reminded of them.

“Not yet, I don’t think.”

* * *

 

Cardassia is warm and dry under their feet. The sand, soft - the dirt, cracked. The sun burns brightly in the mid- _pe’hec_ sky, and Kelas breathes in the dry air, tasting a metallic tang and Cardassian spices, as they sit on the steps of the hospital they work in. The eyes are gone - exiled, they’re told. The people don’t remember Kelas, and the shopkeepers smile as Kelas picks up their morning bread and newspaper. It’s good. Kelas feels safe.

They finger their braids, before one by one, they untie them, all except the forelock. Perhaps it is time to start anew.

* * *

The Dominion came, and the Dominion left. Kelas heard of the rebellion, thought about joining, remembered the camp, didn’t. The planet is dead and barren, and the population even more so. The Federation came and liberated them - Kelas hears of the eyes, the eyes of Elim Garak, the saviour of Cardassia. Kelas clenches and unclenches their hands whenever he - it is he, right? - comes up in conversation, and has the maddest desire to flee, leaving Elim Garak far behind.

But they see the devastation and the dead, and instead put on another pair of gloves. They can’t leave. Not now.

* * *

Elim joins their volunteer squad, and Kelas doesn’t know what to think.

They thought cruel, but Elim patches up the wounded as tenderly as if they were glass. They thought hard, but Kelas has treated the man’s overworked, bloodied scales too many times to count. They thought uncaring, but Kelas has held his sobbing, silent body through the worst nights. They thought unrepentant, but Elim says and shows his apologies, and doesn’t ask for forgiveness.

They thought they saw the monster at the back of the wardrobe, but the monster is holding their hand and doesn’t look so scary anymore.

* * *

If Kelas hadn’t forgiven him long ago, they would’ve now. Elim is a changed man. Elim carries his self inflicted penance, works too hard, and does not let up until Kelas convinces him to rest. Elim watches himself, questions himself, asks Kelas if unsure. Elim respects them not because they are a doctor, but because they exist. Elim is Cardassia’s staunchest protector, but more importantly he is Kelas’ companion and confidante.

Elim is a friend. On the nights Kelas drinks alone, Elim is more than that.

Kelas lets him braid their forelock once. They think he knows what that means.

* * *

When Kelas thinks of Elim, hesitant is not what comes to mind.

Elim looks at them when he thinks they’re not looking, eyes full of warmth, caring, love. But he doesn’t make a move, and redirects, derails, obfuscates, and flees whenever the conversation gets personal. Kelas invites themselves over most nights, because Elim won’t ask for their company but Kelas knows he craves it. Elim hesitates to act, but when Kelas gives him what he needs, Elim acts like it has always been this way.

When Kelas kisses him over the breakfast table, hesitant is far from their mind.


End file.
